A Thin Line
by Song Prophet
Summary: A collection of Draco/Hermione Songfics.
1. There goes my world

Title- There goes my world

Author Name- Song Prophet

Pairing- Hr/D

POV- Draco

Category- Angst

Rating- R

Dedication- To Archangela

Feedback- Makes me a happy little camper.

Disclaimer- This story is based on characters created by J.K. Rawling. The song used is the property of its authors and Lifehouse. No infringement is intended. 

Summary- Draco reflects upon his life, and decides it is not for him.

Songs- I believe the song is called Quasimodo, but do not quote me on that. It is either that or There goes my… No matter what title it is, the song is by Lifehouse.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~~

As I sit here by the lake, a million thoughts run through my mind. I think about my mother as I last saw her- cold and lifeless on the floor, surrounded by a pool of dark blood. I think about my father- Laughing cruelly over her body. I shiver as I imagine it. Even in death, she had looked so angelic that it seemed a crime to even call her murderer my kin. 

Yes, I think about her death, and I almost weep.

But Malfoy's do not cry. 

So instead, I point my wand at the nearest living thing, a small frog, and take my feelings out on it. With a few mumbled dark words, it is nothing more than a lifeless shell, much like my mother was. I cried then. No one would ever know it, but I did. I cried as I buried her in the garden, amidst her roses. 

I push the thoughts of her from my mind, and move on to others. 

I remember my first killing.  Tom Wellston. A Muggle-Born from some trashy squib school in America. Yet, somehow, it does not comfort me as much as it used to. In fact, now, as I remember his scream and his hallow body, it brings me further into a pit of despair.

I am obviously in one of my moods, as my mother called them. So I concentrate on more neutral subjects. Anything to calm me down.

Like school. 

It is almost over. I find it hard to believe that I have spent nearly seven years of my life here at Hogwarts. It has somehow twisted itself into my heart, if I have one that is, and has gradually become more of a home than Malfoy Manor ever has been and ever will be. 

Yet, as my seventh year here draws to an end, and my classmates partake in the festivities that come with such tidings, I sit beside the lake, letting the cool water lap up and touch my toes, in a vain effort to keep my emotions in check.

I stare down at my own reflection blankly. I am greeted by the same vision I have seen the last 17 years- The silvery-blond hair, the cold grey eyes.

Somehow, my own reflection disgusts me tonight, and I turn my gaze away from it, toward the reflection of the full moon further up in the water. This does not upset me, so I stare at it, remembering the past seven years in silent reverie.

Over the years, I have made no friends, so there is no one who will miss me at the ball.

I regret this, but there is little I can do about it now. 

I think briefly about all the people I stepped on to get to where I am now, alone by a lake, and wonder what my life would be like now if I had listened to my mother and ignored my father.

For one, I would have friends. Friends like Potter, Weasley, and Granger. Hell, I might have even been friends with them. Yes, I could see that.

I may even still have had a mother. 

 I would not have this damn tattoo on my arm. 

My gaze falls onto the offending arm, where the tattoo of a snake protruding from a skull lays just on the bottom of my forearm in red ink. I put a finger on it sadly, staring at the thing that would cause my downfall the second I left the refuge of Hogwarts. 

I think about my initiation with spite. I was bred, born, and raised to kill people like Potter and Granger. My mother…she tried to teach me what was right and what was wrong. But she quite obviously failed in that. 

Or did she?

I consider that with contempt as I think about my potions class this morning. 

It had been just like every other- Snape preferred us over them, and I acted the way I always do. And Granger had been asking for it, she really had. But she had looked hurt. There had been tears in her eyes.

I sigh and tear pieces of grass from the ground. Since when did I care about a mudblood's feelings? Perhaps my mother did rub off on my a little.

Then I remember Tom Wellston, and my initiation. I remember my father killing my mother. I remember Voldemort raping my aunt. 

Moreover, I remember the way I stood by and idly watched.

Therefore, it is obvious that I did not listen to mother, and now look at me. 

I almost feel like conjuring up a violin and playing a song for myself. Poor Draco, Poor me, I muse to myself as a tiny fish jumps up in the water. It glistens in the light before disappearing back into the water, sending tiny ripples across the lake. I stare at these in self-pity, and run my hands over my wand.

I do not want this anymore.

The realization hits me like a semi, and I avert my gaze back to my reflection. It seems to look up at me and taunt me, reminding me that I cannot turn back now. I have been initiated, and that is it. It takes the shape of my father, and taunts me.

"You can't turn back now." It says.

"You may be right, but at least I'll be real." I say to it. 

It laughs. "I will kill you before I ever approve of you going soft like your mother."

"I don't need your approval to find my way." I reply. "Living trapped in my own mind…afraid to open my eyes because of what I find…..I don't want to live like that anymore."

"Ah, but you're going to."

"No."

And with that word, the conversation ends and I stand up, feeling strangely light.

As I do, everything seems to fall away from me. The pain, the hurt, the deaths, and the lies. It is a strange feeling, but one that I thoroughly enjoy. 

And with it goes everything. There goes my pain. My chains are loosened. I can feel it, breathe in the cool air easier because of it. There goes a part of my world.

And in its place, something my mother used to call a soul is beginning to form. I welcome it with open arms, smiling.

As part of my world fades into a soul, the load on my back seems to lighten. I smile, in spite of myself, and laugh, feeling almost giddy. I wonder what life could be like for me if I were to give up all of what I know.

I see myself happy. Something I have never really been.  
I see myself with friends. Something I have never really had.

I see a genuine smile on my face. Something I have never really seen.

And that future is so close. I feel like I can reach out and touch it. But yet, something holds me back, like part of me isn't ready to accept it.

And then that part of me is jerked to the side as a voice cuts across the silence.

"What are you doing out here. Why aren't you at the ball?"

The voice seems to echo in my ears, as I turn my head to the side to see Granger standing a few feet away. Her hair is pulled back in a neat updo, a style that compliments the blue strapless dress she is wearing. 

She takes one look at my face, my wand, and me and she takes it the wrong way. I can see the fear build up in her eyes, and I automatically understand the consequences of having a soul. I feel the pang in my heart, a pang caused by someone fearing me because of the way I treat them. 

I take a step toward her, seeking some way to show her how I have changed. She takes a step back, but thinks better of it, and stays in place.

"What do you want, Malfoy?"

"Does it scare you that I can be something different from you?" I ask. 

"What are you talking about?" She replies.

I keep walking toward her. "Would it make you feel more comfortable if I wasn't?"

She looks at me strangely, and I laugh again. This makes her even more frightened, I can see this, yet she stands her ground, and I admire her for that.

"Malfoy, answer me. Why aren't you at the ball, where you are supposed to be right now, might I add?"

I just smile at her. "I have no reason to go."

She frowns. "Come on. We've got to get back.'

"You can't control me." I reply, feeling a little bit of hostility toward her as she orders me around. I want freedom. And I don't want to be bossed around by some Gryffindor on a power trip, be she Head Girl or not.

"Gryffindor." I repeat aloud.

"Yes, that is my house. Now come on." She replies.

I smile again, broader this time, and she takes a step toward me, looking rather worried. "I didn't call you a mudblood."

She frowns again, and yet again, I get another pang. 

Immediately, I find myself closing the already small gap between us and putting my hand on her shoulder in comfort.

She seems a little unnerved by my touch, and I stare at my hand on her arm in surprise. I would have never touched her before. My father would kill me, just as he did my mother, were he to see me right now.

And with that touch, I see the chain begin to fall. More of the world that I lived in slips from me, and I let it, letting it fall from me. Fall from my shoulders, from my back, lightening the load.

The reflection sneers at me, as if in reminder of what I am doing, but I ignore it. It cannot control me, and it certainly could not break this new me. My father has no control over me, not now.

"Have you ever felt like your only comfort was your cage?" I ask, looking down into her eyes for the first time in my life.

'What?" She replies.

"Like the only thing that makes you feel safe the one thing that makes you feel completely unsafe?"

She gets a knowing look in her eyes, and I notice the way they darken for a moment. She nods slightly, yet she still is looking up at me as if I have just grown three heads.

"You're not the only one." I explain. "I have felt that way for so long that it is almost a way of life for me."

"Have you ever felt like your secrets keep you away?"

"Away?" She asks.

"Away from people. Away from who you want to be."

She nods again. "Yes."

"I've been there too."

She shifts a little under my grip. "Is there a point to this, Malfoy?'

"You and I, we're a lot a like."

She pulls away from my grip and laughs, a cold, sad laugh. "Is that what this is? One last chance to destroy me?" Her chestnut eyes show a mixture of anger and such sadness that I almost cry. "Well, it won't work."

"That is not what this is at all." I reply.

"Then, please. Enlighten me."

I smile at her, a genuine smile. "All these years, I thought you were the enemy." I see a protest rising in her, but I silence her. "Please just listen. That is the way I was raised. That's not who I want to be."  
"And?" 

I look down at her, into her eyes, and I realize that I believe in love at 8,000th sight. But then again, it is as if I am seeing her for the first time. I do not answer her, just draw her close and kiss her gently, willing part of myself to go into her. I know that she can see my memories- Memories of people's deaths, memories of my own murderous acts, but I allow it to go on. This is only way I can make her see. 

And with that kiss, and with that sharing, the chains fall the ground with a clink and disappear. My world- the world of the death-eaters- disappears from around me. And in its place is my soul, shining happily and brightly, as if it was trapped beneath my old self all along.

And in that kiss is my salvation. As she gives into the kiss and wraps her arms around me, holding me close to her, letting me see things just I had let her see me, I look forward to whatever is in my future.

 There goes my world, I think. And here comes a new one.

~~~~~~~~~~~~

-The end-


	2. Outside

Title- Outside

Author- Song Prophet

Improv- Crown~Root~Glitter~Spring

POV- Hermione

Year- 7th

Rating- PG-13

Disclaimer- This story is based on characters created by J.K. Rawling. No infringement is intended.

Summary- Hermione stares blankly into the mirror, and reflects upon the way her life has turned out.

~~~~~~~~~~~~~

She had never seen something so strange and awkward.

She knew, somewhere in the back of her mind, that the person she was staring at was her- That the hand running down their face was her own. But the face staring back at her couldn't possibly be hers. She did not look like that. 

She did not have those long sweeping cheekbones, that rounded nose, that long wavy hair, almost auburn in color. She did not have eyes that shined so deep a color green, those rich, pouty lips, or those perfectly straight teeth.

She was not seventeen. 

Or at least she did not feel it. Inside, she felt like the same eleven year old girl who had wrapped her arms around the neck of the boy that lived, begging him to be careful. She felt like the same thirteen year old who had slapped the serpent, living to tell the tale, and had gone back in time with her best friend.

She did not feel like this seventeen year old, who had been betrayed and hurt by those she loved. This seventeen year old who was hated, and even feared. This seventeen year old that was alone in the world. 

Alone, that was, except for the serpent, who was wrapping his way around her heart, squeezing upon it until it felt about to burst. But for all intents and purposes, she was alone- The boy who lived no longer lived to be her love, or even her friend. And Ron- Their friendship had been ruined the day the serpent had slithered into her life.

She still remembered that day clearly. The day her life had ended. It was a beautiful spring day, during their sixth year. Harry had just told her no longer 'loved' her, and she had run. Run right into the arms of the enemy- And been caught by her best friend.

She could still remember the way Ron had stood in front of her, the picture of the three of them in his hands, tearing it to little shreds, sending them falling to the ground. In that moment he had denied all the roots that had grown the six years before that. 

He had left her standing on the edge of the abyss, with only the serpent for company. The serpent, who was all glitter and glamour to the outside world, but inside was nothing more than a rotting soul. A soul that he was trying to save through her. 

As if he thought that by placing a royal crown on her tainted head, she would become more than what she was. A mudblood. Yes, she was a mudblood, but in his words, how could she have done anything about it? She certainly couldn't be blamed for heredity.

But she was still on the outside, looking in. Looking in at the life that used to be hers- The life that Ron and Harry still led, running about the corridors together like there was nothing to trouble them in the world. As if they had erased her from their minds, like she was a blot on the map of their lives to be ignored and drawn over.

She knew what they said about her. That she was as crazy as anyone could be. That she was a lying, cheating whore. That she was fraternizing with the enemy, that she was a spy. 

And she knew there was nothing she could about it. No matter how hard she tried, she was shunned. Shunned by everyone but the serpent and the people he paid, and paid well, to like her. Ginny had scoffed her nose at her, Lavender and Pavarati had foreseen her downfall, and even Neville had turned the other way when she walked toward him.

She had gotten used to it. The loneliness. It was horrible thing to be used to- Used to the gnawing, gripping pain that chipped away at what was left of her lowly heart. Yes, she has gotten used to it, but she had not accepted it.

It was funny, actually. Every time she thought it was finally over. That no one cared, that she could bury herself six feet underground and never feel a damn thing again, the feelings came back again.

Every day felt the same to her. It felt like yesterday to her, and yesterday was following her around like a hawk, eager for blood. It clawed at her back, at her front, at her sides, clawing her open, and laughing at the sport and its ease.

There were times when she was able to get close enough to Harry and Ron to hear their voices, pretending they were talking from either side of her, still her best friends. She tried to pretend she was that eleven year old again, that thirteen year old. She would have even settled for being sixteen and heartbroken from love of Harry, but still having her best friends.

All she wanted was to be one of them again. 

But at some point, she had stopped being Hermione, their best friend. She had become Hermione, the girl. Hermione, the object of lust. Hermione, the girlfriend. Hermione, the one to break.

She saw the truth of it now- That it was naïve to think that they would be friends forever. But it was something she had held onto. And now, in the darkest times, there was nothing to cling to. No one to cling to, but Draco. 

And Draco was not Harry or Ron. Draco was Draco, a man who treated her cruelly and coldly, warmly and lovingly. A walking talking contradiction, who often times confused and hurt her, bringing him down with her into his twisted web of lies.

That was why she could not believe this girl in front of her was truly herself. It was inconceivable to her that this was her life. That this wasn't all just a nightmare that she would wake up from soon.

Hermione sighed, running her hand down the glass slowly, closing her eyes as her hand made a squealing noise as it ran down. It just wasn't possible. 


End file.
